Tonight, the sun set as we walked back home. “This is ten months,” I thought. Ten months from the last time the sun set on Bri and I together. That last night, we held hands as the sun went down. I knew it was the end. I stared out the hospital window and I knew. Come morning, I would be watching the sun rise on my own. I was right. Last January was chaos. Each day, worse than the day before. But it was also the last month before we knew. Last January, we were still “normal” (whatever that means). I still had my “picture perfect” life. How quickly all of that can change. Ten months used to pass in the blink of an eye. Busy-ness and friends and family. But now, it feels like an eternity. Not because I have done anything that looks huge from the outside, but because of how much I have stretched. At ten months, I am more settled into my new identity. I am less fearful of owning it. I am learning to accept that D and I are not meant to live within a conventional life. And I miss Bri more than I did one month after he died. I feel our physical bond lessening. I feel people’s interest and understanding of my grief, lessening too. And I don’t care. I care so much less than I ever have before about what anyone else thinks of me. Tonight, as I was doing the dishes, Roo said: “Mama? You’re my best friend”. How is it that the two of them are so alike? She said it in his exact same tone, with the exact same look in her eyes as he always had. I will never forget the first time Bri told me that I was his best friend. Suddenly I thought, “What if I’m sad about Bri dying forever?” and then, in the next second, “What if I’m *not* sad about Bri dying forever?” I think that was even scarier. Today we had blueberries on toast, a blueberry smoothie, *and* a bowl of frozen blueberries to celebrate Dada because D remembers the important things and because Bri really, really loved blueberries. We have a lot of love around us and we are also on our own in a way that would have been impossible when Brian was alive. ✨ Ten months.